Gossip Girtie and the Useless Straight
by PatchworkDK
Summary: The Navy boys get together. Shameless Norrington Defense League propaganda.


** Gossip Girtie and the Useless Straight**  
DragonLady

Disclaimer: "Pirates of the Caribbean" and the characters within are owned by the Mouse.  
Notes: The game we call Poker wasn't invented until around 1832 in New Orleans, where it was then carried to the Western Territories. Poker was then taken back to Europe in the 1870s. Until 1832, the principal betting game in England was brag, the father to Poker. The principal game in France was poque, the mother to poker. In the Colonies, which combined many cultural elements, it was common to find the lower classes switch from poque to brag and back, as well as playing the German pocher. Poque was traditionally played with the now-standard 52-card deck. The original French deck had four suits: squares (now diamonds), trefoils (now clubs), pikes (now spades), and hearts (still hearts). The straight (five cards in sequence) wasn't added to poker until the 1890s. 

Enough history; on with the fic. 

"I'll see your ten, and I'll raise you ten," Mullroy said, tossing a small handful of small sticks into the pile at the center of the table. He looked across the table at his partner and friend, Benjamin Murtogg. The man's warm brown eyes flitted from the prize in the center of the table to his cards. 

"I fold," Murtogg said, placing his cards face-down. Everyone at the table groaned. "Well, look at my hand!" Murtogg turned his cards over. "Nine, ten, knave, queen, king. It's the third five-card sequence I've drawn tonight, and it's useless!" 

"Almost creepy, it is," said the man on Murtogg's left, one Zachariah Newman. Newman was also a marine, in the same squad as Murtogg and Mullroy. Across from Newman sat Marcus Tull, also a marine. The fifth person at the table was Andrew Lincoln, a common seaman. Lincoln also had the largest stack of sticks at his elbow. A glass of rum sat before each man's elbow, though Murtogg's was untouched. 

"Naw, what's creepy is that Jack Sparrow," Tull said, gesturing to the sea outside. "The bloke didn't even know he'd be arrested until he came aboard. And his crew abandoned him on that Isla de Meurta." The five men crossed themselves. "So how was he to know he'd be rescued? He couldn't of planned with his crew and yet - there they show. And off he goes into the bloomin' sunset." 

"It was shortly after dawn," Murtogg interjected. Tull scowled at him. 

"What's got me is 'ow old Iron Guts let him go," Lincoln said. "I've never seen him drop the trail of nothing, and yet did we go chasin' the Black Pearl? Nope. We just sits here on our hands. That's black magic, mark my words." 

Superstition had enjoyed a revival among marines of Fort Charles. After all, if there were such a thing as undead skeletons, then hexes also had to be real, and throwing salt over your shoulder couldn't hurt. The sailors, superstitious as a breed, had great fun telling the now-humbled marines "we told you so." 

"I wonder if it was a one-time thing, or if the Commodore's still, you know... hexed?" Mullroy ventured. 

"One time deal, got to be," Newman said, fiddling with his cards. "The Commodore's got a mighty strong will. I don't think any curse could last long." 

Lincoln nodded, throwing his bet into the prize. "I'll second that. It'd take more than even the legendary Captain Sparrow to bend old Iron Guts. Even if he is the youngest bastard I've ever seen wear brocade." 

"I wouldn't be complaining, Andrew. Better him than some old liner with no teeth and a taste for the lash. The Commodore might have all the bend of a pair of over-starched pants, but he's fair," Tull said. He tossed his bet in. 

"Fair's one word for it," Mullroy commented. "Though I wouldn't let Lieutenant Gillette catch you with your eyes wandering. He's got his territory all staked out nice and proper, with Miss Swann out of the way." 

"Drives Groves mad, it does. He's been achin' to get a bite in on the Commodore ever since he arrived," Newman commented. 

"That's illegal! All of it! They'd be discharged and hanged," Murtogg protested, more than slightly shocked. "If the Commodore ever found out, he wouldn't hesitate. Not even a bit." 

"Aye, that's the ticket," Tull said. "Both of 'em ought to just stick with each other, instead of quarrlin' over a man who ain't interested, and would just as soon string 'em up." Tull swiped his cards in an intricate pattern over the table. "But I can't blame the fellas, really. He's a fine piece of meat, he is. You should hear the whores go on about him. He's never been to a cathouse once in all the time he's been here - kinda strange in and of itself - but the cats still think they've got a chance. They'd even pay him for the sport, I think." 

"I bet he doesn't even know where it goes," Lincoln roared, laughing. "'Ell, he'd probably have to ask the whore for directions!" All but Murtogg laughed. 

"I think he just wants to wait until he's married. You know, have the first person he's with be the one he's spending the rest of his life with," Murtogg hypothesized. "I respect him for it." 

"That's the damned stupidest thing you've ever said, Benjamin," Mullroy choked. "There's no man on this earth who'd pass up a shot at a woman for some ideal about marriage. Maybe he's passing up the girlies because Gillette and Groves have more of a shot than we first figured. That's the only reason I can figure any man'd still be a virgin at his age." Mullroy sobered. Murtogg said nothing, just looked at the table. Mullroy stared at him. 

"You're not." 

"I don't see where that's any of your concern," Murtogg said with enough primness to make Norrington himself proud. 

"I'll be damned," Lincoln said. "You're not a eunuch, are you?" 

"No!" Murtogg said, flushing a deep crimson. "I- I- I just think that your wife should be your first, that's all. Like the Good Book says." 

"I take it back," Mullroy muttered, taking a swig of his drink. "That's the damned stupidest thing you've ever said. Look, Benjamin, take it from four blokes who know. The Good Book's more like guidelines than actual rules." 

"Like the pirate's code?" Murtogg asked angrily, referring to a recurring theme in Elizabeth Swann's stories of her time aboard the Black Pearl. "Because God forbid you have a set of morals you won't abandon just because it's convenient." 

"Hey, easy mate," Newman said, holding up his hands. "I'm sure that kind of romantic attitude'll get you someplace with the ladies. They drink that stuff up. The nice ones do, anyway. Me, I prefer the naughty ones myself. And you can keep covering for me while I go visit them!" The other three men agreed. Murtogg subsided, pacified. 

"You know," Tull said softly, "the Commodore did chase all over Hell for the girl he loved. He might just believe that romantic nonsense. Murtogg could be right. It certainly fits in with his Honor and Duty Above All Else attitude." 

"Now that I think about it... the Commodore doesn't drink. Maybe he's shooting for sainthood," Newman said. 

"If he was shooting for sainthood, he wouldn't have been all set to marry Miss Swann," Mullroy said with considerable condescension. 

"Oh," Newman said, disappointed. "Right. Whose turn is it?" 

"Who cares?" Lincoln said. "Call." Everyone showed their hand, and Lincoln took the pot. Tull gathered the cards and began to shuffle. He then dealt each man their hand. Murtogg looked at his hand and then threw it on the table in disgust. 

"Another one. I give up. Good night, gents, I'll see you in the morning." Murtogg stood and headed for the door. 

"G'night, Benjamin," the men chorused. Murtogg's chair was removed. 

"Four hand poque?" Mullroy asked. "That's no fun." 

"Then skip the cards and hand me the rum," Tull said. The cards and sticks were discarded, and the bottle of purchased rum brought out. Each man's glass was filled. 

"To the _Interceptor_," Mullroy said. "May she rest in peace." 

"To the _Interceptor_," they echoed. Each man drained his glass. The rum burned its way down four throats. Mullroy refilled everyone's glasses. 

"Any news on a replacement?" Lincoln asked. The other three shook their heads. No one had heard anything new. "I hope they don't deny the Commodore one as a punishment. I wouldn't feel safe bein' out here with only one ship. Not with the Black Pearl running around. That Sparrow's a dangerous fellow." Lincoln chuckled at his unintentional rhyme. 

"He's not so bad, actually," Mullroy said, remembering his conversation with "Smithy." "I think that with that cave full of gold, he might give up the looting and the stealing altogether. From what Miss Swann says, it's the freedom he's after, not the kill. That Barbossa, on the other hand..." The men crossed themselves again. "Good riddance to a bad egg." 

"Amen," the others said, taking a deep draft from their glasses. 

"Never seen anything like it," Tull whispered, his eyes wide and hands trembling. "They weren't even moist. Flesh like cobwebs, but they was still moving. You'd stab 'em, and they'd turn your own blade on you. No sound, either. No breathing, no nothing." 

"Don't think about it," Newman said. "Or it'll make you mad. We beat 'em fair and good, that's all that matters. And it won't happen again." 

"Who's to say?" Tull demanded, an anguished howl. "Who's to say that there won't be more of those monsters, or worse? There's such a thing as magic, so what the Hell good is reason!" 

"No good!" Lincoln said viciously, grabbing Tull's arm. "Reason ain't worth a damn, but I'll tell you what is: Iron Guts. You weren't near the quarter-deck, but I was. He took on those skeletons as cool as a cucumber, and beat 'em, too. He fought as hard as any one of you marines or us seamen. His voice never cracked, not once in any of his orders. And he didn't tell us to do nothin' he didn't do himself. There may be monsters, but I'm just as happy fightin' them as pirates as long as I've got the Commodore leadin' me." Mullroy and Newman voiced their assent. 

"And if they promote him?" Tull demanded. 

"We just can't allow that," Lincoln said. "If they so much as try, we can mutiny. Or protest. The Governor doesn't have much spine, he'd listen to reason if we presented it to him. Hell, I don't think he's got any more eagerness than we to be without the Commodore's protection. As long as we've got Iron Guts at the wheel, we don't have to worry for magic." 

Tull nodded, and subsided. 

The men passed the remainder of the evening in silent contemplation. 


End file.
